


be a girl like any other

by neurolingual



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/F, grocery clerk!au, it is now a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:56:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neurolingual/pseuds/neurolingual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(It becomes a weekly thing, now. She wonders why the Girl keeps running out of jasmine tea at eleven at night on Wednesdays, and why she always comes to Korra’s register. Korra’s pretty sure Mako’s smolder is far more engaging than her stuttering hands dropping quarters and dimes all over the place and mega bad attempt at jokes that only keep the Girl laughing for as long as Korra can blink).</p>
            </blockquote>





	be a girl like any other

**Author's Note:**

> i remember back in 2012 when i wrote a korrasami fanfic. that was... a time i am not proud of. three years later and i still live inside the biggest korrasami dumpster right outside of nick studios.
> 
> i've been listening to "emily" by mika for too long now, so that's where the title is from.
> 
> this was inspired by how much i looooove working retail :) and the pretty girl whose name i wish i had gotten before she left the store

The store is dead. Korra thinks there are two people max meandering somewhere. Probably in the bread isle. That's where most people end up even if they don't need to be there.

She's cleaned her register twice in the last hour (once to amuse herself with the movement of _something_ , the second time to actually clean; there was a serious case of the Dust Bunnies in places Korra never even realized could collect dust in the first place), and she's read just about every tabloid magazine on the shelf by her elbow that was on display. She'd even thumbed through a cook book. Not like she'd ever use that knowledge -- any of it -- since the last time she tried cooking anything, she Googled possible giant stamps that said _Deadly and Inedible_ for purchasing afterward. Her apartment still smelled like burnt squash.

Korra tries scoping through the isles, ones she can see without straining her neck too hard, but every one is desolate and she wonders when the apocalypse struck Republic City without anyone so much as courtesy calling her about the memo.

Even flicking her eyes back and forth down the row of registers turns out to be just as disappointing. Bolin looks like he's half asleep on top of the row of candy. Mako, staring down at the screen in front of his hands, tapping just to make some noise, _any_ noise, just looks bored.

Korra can relate.

It's a Wednesday night and it's just shy of eleven. Everyone who's smart or has a real job dealing with taxes ('cause to Korra it's not a real job unless you can audit someone, apparently) is asleep.

Like Mako and Bolin should be. Like the two (or four or probably zero) possible customers still lost in a sea of canned green beans should be. Like Korra should be.

If she wasn't on the verge of debating selling her bed on Craigslist and eating stale pita chips Mako left on her counter three months ago, her only available source of sustenance the past week, Korra would quit. Throw a big hoorah as she walked out the door doing it, too. With confetti. And the middle finger.

She goes to snap her gum but thinks better of it, since if Tenzin caught her chewing gum on the front line, he'd have her head (translation: he'd stick her on bagger duty for two weeks, 'cause murder is still very much illegal and detrimental to a person's personal record). Korra folds it between her teeth instead, rolls it against her tongue until it ashes like sandpaper and paints gritty across her bottom lip.

There's a _clickclickclick_ -ing of shoes and it almost startles Korra, almost drags her back to the reality of what is, currently, her boring life.

(Staring herself, with guest appearances by Bolin and Mako, in everyone's favorite episodes: _My Heat Doesn't Work I'm Crashing on Your Couch, If You Buy Me Food This Time I Swear I'll Get You Next_ , and the real crowd pleaser, _Bolin How Did You Get the Keys to My Apartment and Why Are You Making Out with Your Girlfriend on My Bathroom Floor_ ).

Korra reminds herself _ihatethisjob ihatethisjob iwannagohome ihatethisjob_ as incentive to push the customer friendly smile on her face and perservere through just another transaction.

The only item on the belt was a box of jasmine tea. Korra's smile starts to slip; she wants to glower, in all honesty, because _self check-out was A Thing for A Reason, people_ , and wasting her time on one item is seriously just so-

Whatever. It's something to do.

She forces a smile again.

"Hi," she says, dragging her eyes away from the obscured UPC label. "Did you find everything you were looking-"

Korra blinks. It's not every day she sees a sight like this.

She's glad the girl is too busy yawning to notice Korra'a very adamant and super embarrassing staring contest, party of one.

There's a smudge on her cheekbone that looks like it could be ink, could be grease, could be several things, but her eyes fall on a shade of verdant, and lips a pale pink. The girl's bleary-eyed and pouty-mouthed and her hair falls sloppily out if her bun.

She smiles in Korra's silence and Korra's cheeks start to warm.

"Hey," the girl says and Korra fumbles to scan the box of tea.

(She manages to charge the girl twice but retracts while the girl looks absently through the candy).

"Um." Korra taps her nails against the register, watches Bolin watching her -- mainly out of his lackluster interest for one of the three of them no longer just sitting around, slightly with a twinkle Korra just wants to slap entirely out of his body -- trying to remember how asking _Paper or Plastic_ sounds coming out of her mouth.

The girl's smile still hovers on her lips when she says, "Plastic is cool."

Korra bags the jasmine tea box and takes the cash dumped into her palm and just barely stops herself from waving back to the girl when she takes her receipt and marches out the door at eleven twenty-three on a Wednesday evening.

(Mako's watching her too, now, disinterested with a side-dish of neutral frown, but Bolin waggles his eyebrows to Mako and he makes an amused gruff behind Korra's back, so Korra marks it down in her brain to sprinkle dish soap in the next batch of ramen she makes them when they crash her place to steal her cable).

 

 

 

It's another eleven twenty on a Wednesday night when Korra sees the Girl again, with just another box of jasmine tea. She plops it onto the conveyer belt and toys with a bag of m&ms.

Her hair isn't as messy as last time, curling like waves against her shoulders. Her mascara is smudged, turning the creases of her tired eyes a smokey gray. But her clothes look just as ruffled, as if she's just woken up.

"Not sure if m&ms and jasmine tea make the best flavor combination," Korra tries and it earns her a smile and a clip of fluttered laughter, and her palms feel clammy when she hands the Girl her jasmine tea and receipt.

The Girl doesn't have the smudge anymore (which Korra had though was maybe a weird birthmark -- guess not), and her shoulders look small under the dangling fabric of the hoodie she has on, too big for her bones. She waves out the door and Korra waves back and shoots Bolin a glare as he comes by to collect her trash, all wiggly-waggly eyebrows and what not.

 

 

 

Wednesday afternoon comes and goes and Korra's ever so thankful for its quiet. She's still nursing away whatever deadly hangover-beast was present in her body, practically drowning herself in chugged water, and her skull thunks in deep tandem with the low hum of the soundtrack playing through the speaker system.

She wants to go home and curl onto her couch and like, maybe die. Alcohol had never been kind to her and she should've listened when Mako had said _maybe ten shots is seven shots too many_ but it tasted good and Korra had a crappy day and she hated her job and she wasn't the one paying for it all, so. Intuition hadn't stopped her like it probably definitely should've.

A box of jasmine tea rolls down her conveyer belt and Korra doesn't mean to groan, but she does ('cause the freakin' beep of the register was _so loud_ when she scanned things and she didn't need that in her life, especially while dealing with the ever-present Hangover from Hell), and a hum follows after from a throat that sounds half asleep.

"Nice to see you, too," says the Girl, and Korra's limbs, heavy with sad and frowny faces, straighten as much as they can.

"Hey," Korra says too brightly for the bags under her eyes. She tries smiling and it feels slack on her mouth.

The Girl trails her eyes over Korra's face, Korra's slumped shoulders, just about Korra's everything, down and back up again and smiles at Korra's red cheeks.

"Your body _screams_ hangover," the girl teases and Korra reddens even more 'cause if a random customer could see that, so could Tenzin.

(Although, she's not so much worried about Tenzin finding out first hand, since that man is always back in the office checking invoices and other Important Business Stuff, but rather Lin harping on her and then _telling_ Tenzin, 'cause she could never catch a break under the pinch of Lin's ever present hawk-eyes).

Korra groans -- on purpose this time. "Crap," she huffs. "I hope my boss didn't notice."

The Girl takes her change with a smile, but doesn't leave the store automatically like usual; Korra's hand is frozen in a half-wave by her waist.

She tears into her box of jasmine tea and hands Korra a single teabag.

"Here," the girl says, reaching for Korra's wrist and tucking the teabag beneath Korra's fingers. "Jasmine tea is good for the mind."

Korra can feel the dull glow of red on the tips of her ears.

"Thanks."

The Girl nods and taps Korra's thumb. "Goodnight, Korra."

Korra forgets to wave and Bolin deems it fit after their shifts let off to sing her a ballad in the parking lot about forgotten gestures and jasmine teabags. He almost doesn't make it out of the parking lot with _his_ t-bags.

 

 

 

(It's become a weekly thing, now. She wonders why the Girl keeps running out of jasmine tea at eleven at night on Wednesdays, and why she always comes to Korra's register. Korra's pretty sure Mako's smolder is far more engaging than her stuttering hands dropping quarters and dimes all over the place and mega bad attempt at jokes that only keep the Girl laughing for as long as Korra can blink).

 

 

 

It's four in the morning and Korra's in uniform, earbuds thumping with music, a scowl on her face as she unloads boxes of canned pineapple onto the shelf.

Mako was somewhere around, but the two have an unspoken rule where they're not to speak to one another until after opening hours. Mako tried one time and it ended with him locked in the meat freezer until Lin had to come bail him out.

Korra rubs the sleep from her eyes and tries not to slump against the shelves; the last thing she needs is to be cleaning up canned fruit juice this early in the morning.

_It's extra cash_ , she reminds herself, fronting whatever cans are still present from yesterday. _Extra cash. Think about your heating bill._

A shiver passes down her spine just at the thought.

As a song closes out in order for the next, she hears a fumble and a crash. She hopes it's not Mako. They have a while to go before the store opens.

She quickly empties the three boxes of canned fruit and twists all the labels to the front, crushing the empty cardboard and moving to one of the last boxes on her cart (she wishes it was the last one she had to _do_ , but unfortunately, life hates her and probably so does Tenzin, and there's more boxes than she can count on both sets of hands and feet still lingering in the back by the trailers).

With a tired gruff, she hoists the next box up, holds it against the shelf with her ribs as she slides a pocket knife over the tape.

She tucks back the lips of the cardboard and re-tapes them down to the sides.

It's a box full of jasmine tea.

Korra feels the corners of her mouth tug towards her eyes.

She curls one hand around the bottom and moves to the next isle.

(Normally, she'd be beyond peeved she didn't pick up all the correct boxes needed in one isle for restocking so she wasn't having to zig-zag all over the store and furthering her irateness. But it's jasmine tea and like, whatever, okay?

If she aligns the boxes with a delicacy so tender her fingers barely graze the edges of the boxes when she shuffles them all into an orderly presentation, nobody has to know).

 

 

 

Korra's working the morning shift with Opal, and it's a dreary Friday with rolling black clouds and thunder Korra can feel in the tips of her toes.

There are barely any customers, too afraid to be driving; Korra heard tornado warnings or watches (or something with a w) on her way to work and kept wondering why _she_ had to risk her neck for some idiot who may have fun out of milk.

Opal didn't seem to mind being stuck here, however; she kept chewing on her candy and flipping through her magazine, humming to some song Korra had heard when flipping channels on the radio last night.

The thunder claps and Korra thinks she can see the roof shake, imagines it crumbling in her own vapid amusement.

The doors slide open and the stampede of rain sounds louder without a barrier; they slip shut before the thunder can clap again, but it's enough to snap Opal out of her candy-crunching revere.

A shadow moves, dripping black rain from their coat and disappearing down an isle. Opal moves to the front door and drops a _wet floor_ sign by the baskets.

Korra watches Opal drift back to her register. "Saving our butts in legal fees," Opal shrugs. "Just in case."

The figure moves and Korra sees them hesitate, brief but ever present for the moment, in front of Opal's register, before deciding Korra's route was a better option.

(Korra's frown seemed to think otherwise).

"Hello," Korra says, and she doesn't bother to hide the _why am i here_ tone from her throat.

A box of jasmine tea gets held out to her and the hood falls from it's position on the shadows head.

Korra almost chokes.

The Girl smiles and her lips are stark red, cheeks and nose bitten scarlett by the wind, eyes shadowed in purple. Korra just stares back.

(She keeps doing that -- the staring thing. It probably creeps the Girl out).

"Hey," the Girl says, smile turning soft.

"It's not Wednesday," is the first thing out of Korra's mouth. The Girl just laughs.

"I know. But I'm visiting my father-" but she stops herself, a crease in her brow. "He likes jasmine tea, too."

"Must be hereditary," Korra grins and the Girl's smile comes back. It holds warm in the pit of Korra's belly.

She hands back the change, but lingers her thumb on the Girl's palm.

"Be careful driving," Korra says. "It's nasty out."

The Girl smiles, a delicate curve to her mouth, gives Korra's hand a squeeze. "Thank you, Korra."

(When Korra clocks out, just a little past noon when the store begins to fill with more customers, the storm calmer from the chaos of the morning, Opal hovers just behind her shoulder, tapping her foot against the ground.

"Is that the girl Bolin was telling me about?"

Korra's thumb hovers above the scanner.

"She's cute," Opal says, and Korra can hear the curve of her smirk in her words.

"Sure." Korra clutches the plastic bag tighter in her hand.

At home, with nothing but then gentle fuzz of the news warning about possible traffic clogging main street, Korra grips her mug

of jasmine tea closer to her chest, a warmth in her palm as she sits against the windowsill, the pane of the window chill against her cheek).

 

 

 

There's not much to see this late at night, Korra thinks, watching Mako flick out a cigarette, her back against the cool brick of the bar. She can never see the stars from these streets, and she ponders climbing the nearest tree in hopes of a better view. But the thought flickers away with Mako's cough, and she leans her head back instead. She can feel the low hum of the music trapped inside buzzing in the curve of her spine.

Bolin comes falling out to door, an irritable Opal at his side trying to keep her boyfriend from faceplanting into the dirty sidewalk.

"I love Saturdays," Bolin manages over a thick tongue. Korra sees Opal's mouth drip into a low-hanging scowl.

"Let's get you home." Mako steps around Korra's feet, throwing Bolin's arm over his shoulder. The brothers move down the sidewalk, Bolin muttering a song for only him and Mako, and Opal hangs by Korra's side, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets.

"He knows his limits," she steps in time with Korra, "and then he goes _straight over them_."

Korra laughs and waits at the crosswalk, blinking in the sudden light of a passing Satomobile. She takes Opal's hand and the two rush across the street, ignoring the warning hand and the blare of a horn when they stride right up behind the boys.

The night is cool and quiet, and Korra's thankful they all have off work tomorrow; Bolin won't be able to stand, at least judging by the way Korra saw him toss back Flameo Whiskey shots like water, and Korra thinks they'll all be greatful for a resting point. Especially if Korra claims Opal's couch; it's comfy _and_ she has the TV at her disposal.

(Mako will take the floor next to her, like he always does when Korra takes the couch, and Bolin will hopefully be in bed with Opal, not ending up in the bathtub this time).

They come to another crosswalk when Bolin whines about being hungry.

"I have food at my house," Opal says with a hand against Bolin's back. "You would know. You keep eating up my pantries."

Bolin whines again and Mako jerks him upright.

"I'll stop at Narooks," Korra offers, peeling away to the other side of the street. "I'll meet you back at Opal's!"

She chooses to ignore Bolin's drunken shouts of affection behind the cover her her sweatshirt hood.

The walk cools Korra's skin, and it feels good. Feels nice not to be thinking about setting an alarm for work. Feels great knowing she doesn't have to be up in the morning. She can sleep till noon!

Korra grins crookedly at the thought.

There's only a few people ahead of her when she steps inside Narook's, and the smells and the warmth cling to her nose. Korra itches at the dry skin on her cheek.

She orders everyone's favorite noodles to go, an extra large bowl for Bolin, and waits off to the side when the cashier hands her the receipt.

Korra's chest pauses all it's functions -- all heartbeats and lung-breathing capabilities at a vicious stand-still -- an ache between her ribs when she sees the Girl perched at the bar by the window, paper scattered about her arms.

It's definitely her; Korra can see her frowning in the glass. It doesn't suit her, the frown and the crease between her eyebrows, the strain in her neck, Korra thinks.

She tries turning away, tries to not do the staring-thing she's accustomed to doing, but luck is not on her side (never was and never is, if she's being honest), and the girl catches movement in the reflection, sees Korra bundled up in her hoodie and grins.

"Korra!" She says brightly, turning in her stool, lips pale like the first time.

Korra hopes what her mouth is returning is a smile. "Hey."

The Girl's smile doesn't falter when she waves Korra over, pats the seat next to her. Korra's feet are moving before her brain tells her to _stop_ , and she sits don't a seat away, tries not to read too much into it when the Girl's smile shadows disappointment.

"I'm Asami, by the way," she says. Korra blinks. "I never had a chance to introduce myself before."

"Asami." Korra smiles. _Asami._

It sounds nice, even coming from her chapped lips.

Korra notices a cool bowl of noodles at Asami's side, glancing down at the paper work in front of her. "Oh." Korra twists in her stool like she's to stand. "Did I interrupt your, uh."

Korra looks at the papers, the drawings and designs, articulate and instructed, littered with pencil marks and blurbs. _Lightweight_ , she reads next to design of an airplane wing. _Think birdlike. Feathers instead of bolts_.

"Sketching?"

Asami follows Korra's eyes and Korra almost misses Asami's cheeks turn pink. "Oh! No." Asami gathers the papers into a pile, tucks them into a manilla folder and pushes everything aside. "Just getting a head start on a project."

"An airplane wing is your project?"

Asami's smile is small. "More or less." 

She doesn't elaborate so Korra doesn't ask.

"What are you doing here?" Asami asks, but her cheeks pale when she stutters on a laugh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Stupid question. Getting food, obviously."

Korra presses her lips together to hide her emerging smile. "Not a stupid question." She shrugs. "I _could_ have just been stalking you."

Okay. Not the most _intelligent_ response, she thinks, sorta Creepy McCreeperson joke territory, but Asami laughs so she tries not to dwell on it.

"But thanks for asking." Korra crunches the receipt in her pocket. "Do you always come to old, falling-down noodle shops to work on 'projects'?"

Asami accepts it like a challenge, a smirk to her lips. "It's noisy." She plays with a loose thread next to her thumb. "Too much quiet in my apartment."

Korra raises a brow. "Quiet? Republic City?" She glances at Asami's bowl. "Did they slip some cactus juice in there when you weren't looking?"

Asami's laugh is cut short, the man behind the counter calling Korra's order number.

She unfolds the receipt from her pocket, checks the number even though she knows it's right, but she just doesn't feel like moving. Too warm in her seat, in Asami's presence.

She sighs and Asami gives a playful pout. "That's me." Korra shifts out of her seat. "It was nice talking to you, Asami."

Asami's eyes grow warm. "You too."

Korra gives her a final smile, moving towards the counter to collect the, wow, _really_ large and _really_ heavy paper bag being held out to her.

Korra leaves the shop under the chime of the bells hung on the door, and Korra smiles one last time at Asami through the window.

Asami smiles, waves. Korra lifts her hand from under the bag as much as she can.

(Asami watches her file down the street as far as her eyes will carry).

Korra stands outside Opal's door, grinning and light on her feet with a name on her tongue.

Asami.

Korra hopes she's clocked in the next time Asami runs out of jasmine tea.

(Although, Korra has a feeling Asami will be in her line regardless. Or just waiting until Korra's back in before needing to buy more tea.

Korra thinks maybe Asami has a sixth sense. A Korra sense. Maybe she likes seeing Korra just as much as she likes jasmine tea.

Korra hopes she's not thinking too much into it.)

**Author's Note:**

> yooooo hit up my [tumblr](http://neurolingual.tumblr.com/ask) and tell me what you thought! it's been a while since i've written korrasami


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